The Oppressed
by Mrs. Hiddleston
Summary: Dumbledore's anti-Pureblood regime has endured 52 years. Regardless of their prior treatment of Muggleborns, Hermione Granger knows it's wrong. As she struggles against Dumbledore's powerful tyranny, she and her friends must choose between the lesser of two evils: a dictator whose prejudice is ostracizing half the wizarding world, or Tom Riddle, who possibly might be a sociopath.
1. The Oppressor

**A/N: *Guiltily looks at feet* Hiiiiii guys! Can't believe I'm doing this again-this is literally getting a bit silly, but I JUST can't seem to drag myself away from good ole' Tomione 3 This had been an idea that's been on my brain, legitimately, for years! Just little bits and pieces, and I'm still working out the kinks, but I do have a general plotline, which, guys, if you know me at all, is _way _more than I usually have at his point;)**

**Surprise, surprise, this story is going to be AU, so there might be some characters that are out of their timeline, no worries! It all pans out! It's also going to be a bit of a slow start. I'm going to try to establish some really strong relationships, and some really thorough character developments, so the romance might not come rollin' in for a wee bit;) *Don't eat me*. This one will be a little more actiony-adventurey as opposed to my usual adventurey-romancey, so I really really hope y'all like this. I'm super excited, and I hope we're in for another fantastico ride!**

**So, without further adieu, I humbly present to you, Chapter One!**

**Disclaimer: All familiar content belongs to the magnificent J.K Rowling. Disclaimer applies to all chapters!**

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Chapter One

The long, wide hall was all but silent as the Minister of Magic rose from his chair. The sharp screech of the splintering wood against the smooth granite tile had several members of the audience jumping visibly, the sudden racket startling them. They watched with bated breath as the esteemed man took his place at the tall podium, overlooking the sea of faces, all turned up towards him, attentive, captivated by his mere presence alone. A seemingly kind smile touched his face.

"Greetings, old friends, and new. Fifty-two years have passed since you have so graciously bestowed upon me the honour of leading you and your kin. Fifty-two years since my dear, and most beloved friend, Gellert Grindelwald, was assassinated, leaving me at a loss. Gellert had always, even leading up to his death, been the charismatic, certain one between the pair of us. He knew how to run a country. I, however, found myself hopelessly impaired.

"Nonetheless, together, with the help of you, my people, we soldiered through, creating a new world, in which our citizens who had once been condemned to a life of prejudice and despotism were free to live their lives as contributing members of the wizarding society, and, henceforth, the rightful inheritors of the wizarding world!"

A cheer broke out within the hall, beginning as a low hurrah and tumultuously developing into a roar of approval. Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes twinkled happily as he surveyed his swarm of supporters.

"Those of Pureblood descent have, for far too long, looked down upon Half-Bloods, Muggleborns, even blood-traitors, with disdain, hatred, even condescension, for far too long! The witches and wizards among those families of Muggle origin far outnumber those of the 'superior' birthright. It has long since been proven that the continuation of Pure bloodlines, through practices of betrothal at best, and incest at worst, has tainted even the most talented wizards' and witches' abilities, and cause severe deformities within wizarding families even of modern-day society. And these are the people that we would have mate with our daughters? Our sons?"

Cries of agreement chimed clear throughout the hall; the peoples' anger had so thoroughly manifested that several of the onlookers could be seen raising their fists high into the air, violent fury evident in their expressions.

The Minister opened his mouth to speak again, but the voice that next reverberated around the room was not a voice of composure and conviction; rather, a tone of palpable rage.

"Are they not people as well, Dumbledore?" Members of the audience looked to and fro for the person who had spoken. They finally found him, a blonde young man standing rather conspicuously on one of the tall columns, one hand gripping the pillar as he leaned precariously towards the wizard whom he spoke to. "Is this treatment not reminiscent to the very treatment you fought so arduously against concerning Mudbloods and Half-Bloods?"

Several gasps could be heard throughout the room; the word 'Mudblood' was not a word that one used lightly; on the contrary, even the use of the word could have a person jailed.

Dumbledore, however, did not look at all surprised by the young man's outburst. He peered at the boy, seemingly collected, and then, once again, addressed the crowd. "Is this not proof enough of the cruelty which will be inflicted upon you if Purebloods were allowed to roam free? Is this not sufficient evidence of their savagery and inability to show mercy?" He turned to the young man, whose glower was so sharp it could slice concrete. "Such a pity. You seemed like such a nice, salvageable young man. However, it is obvious that your parents' influence could only be staved off for so long." A malicious glint, hardly noticeable unless you knew to look for it, seemed to glitter in Dumbledore's eyes, behind his half-moon spectacles. "Seize him."

However, as the guards made towards the blonde boy, several things happened at once: the doors burst open, and a flood of witches and wizards clad in brown robes poured into the room; at the same instant, a tall, pale, dark-haired man burst from the door behind Dumbledore and shot a spell towards the old man. In the midst of all of this, a shaggy-haired boy wearing round spectacles, with a peculiar lightning-bolt shaped scar in the center of his forehead swung down from the chandelier, bumping carelessly into guests and security men alike, headed towards a heavily-guarded door just to the right of Dumbledore's podium. The wizard himself did not notice, as he was now engaged in a duel with the dark-haired man, his aged face creased with anger and concentration.

The bespectacled boy finally reached the door, and shot two stunners at the guards standing closest to the door. The first guard easily deflected it, but the second guard was not so lucky; the spell hit him square in the face. The shaggy-haired boy engaged the remaining three guards in a duel, but it soon became obvious that they had him outmatched. A sweat broke out along his hairline as he cast spell after spell, conjuring up a shield just in time as the burly, dark-haired guard shot a rather nasty-looking yellow hex in his direction.

Quite suddenly, two curses spun towards guards from his left. The two wizards were knocked out, and, in his moment of distraction, the bespectacled boy easily disarmed the third. "Nice shot," he called, grinning broadly at the blonde boy who had emerged from between several panicked guests.

"Thanks." Draco Malfoy smirked in return, his white-blonde hair caked with blood that seemed to be steadily dribbling from his temple, sharp grey eyes glittering with amusement. "Ruddy gits wouldn't keep their hands off of me."

"It might have been you word choice," the shaggy-haired boy mused, his voice a tinge reproachful. "You really didn't need to use the word 'Mudblood'—"

"Yeah, yeah, bad habit, Potter, now let's go, before he notices us."

Harry Potter turned and quickly cast a nonverbal Alohomora, and he and Draco rapidly slipped behind the door, shutting it with a nearly-silent snap behind them. "It'll be a while, I reckon," Harry pointed out. "They're both ruddy brilliant duelers—"

"Merlin, no wonder Granger complains about helping you with essays, you are so easily distracted."

The two of them peered down the long, eerily dim hall. It was lined by rows and rows of what appeared to be bookcases, but each shelf was filled, not with books, but with tiny metal boxes.

"Lumos," Draco muttered, and started down the hall, peering at the first row of boxes. Harry mimicked him and began to peruse the next row over.

"Hermione told you that I'm easily distracted? Since when are you two all chummy-chummy?" Harry's tone was good-natured, amusement outweighing the irritation in his voice.

"Snape and Mrs. Weaselbee—"

"_Malfoy_!"

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist, Snape and Mrs. _Weasley_ have been working together on some sort of healing potion—she's really good with the healing spells, you know, and he's blood brilliant at potions—and my mum was just giving them a hand. Well, you know Hermione's always tagging along after Snape, so she was there too, and we were chatting a bit. If it makes you feel any better, she said Weasley's got the competency of a second year."

Harry let out a snort of amusement. "That does sound like something 'Mione would say." He was about to say something else, when he broke off, his eyes flickering over a silver box at the end of the seventeenth row. "Malfoy, I think I've found it."

The blonde boy was by his side in an instant. "12E?"

Harry nodded, lifting the box as though it were a fine piece of china. He opened the lid slowly, and there, lying harmlessly against the cold metal, was a tiny golden key, no larger than Harry's little finger. He lifted it from the box, grinning rather goofily at Malfoy, who looked more excited than Harry had ever seen him.

The door slammed open, making both of them leap out of their skin. Harry hastily set the box back on the shelf, making to shove the key in his pocket, when Draco stopped him.

"Wait!" He whispered, and he hastily pointed his wand at the key, murmuring a spell that Harry didn't recognize. There were now two keys sitting in Harry's palm, instead of one. "Duplication spell," Malfoy said, "So they won't know we've taken anything!" He quickly shoved the faux key back into the box, shutting the lid.

Harry pulled something out of his robe pocket. "Quick, under this!"

Draco looked wary. "What is it? Are you sure—"

"Don't argue, just do it!" Harry pulled him beneath the invisibility cloak, and not a second too soon, for moments later, two security guards came around the corner, shining their wands down each row. One of them was a fair-haired, big-bellied man who looked vaguely familiar to Harry, though he couldn't pin-point exactly why, and the other man Harry recognized as Kevin Entwhistle, who had attended Hogwarts a few years above Harry.

Once the two guards were far beyond their row, Harry and Draco moved as quickly and as quietly as they could towards the door through which they had entered.

Out in the main hall, it was clear that, once their task had been completed, the remainder of their comrades had fled. Dumbledore could be seen pacing upon the platform, looking harried and annoyed. Beside him stood several guards, wands pointed towards a group of rebels who had been captured. The four of them were tied to one another, looking nervously around as the guards menacingly circled them. Harry bit his lip, taking half a step in their direction.

"Don't even_ think_ about it Potter!" Draco hissed, gripping his arm tightly. "You heard the werewolf, all we're supposed to do is get the key, and get out. Our duty is completed, we'll rescue the others another time."

Harry, however, was not so easily swayed, either due to sheer stubbornness, or what Hermione liked to refer to as his 'blasted nobility complex'. He recognized one of the captives as his good friend Seamus Finnigan. He raised his wand, his mind already running through the hexes and spells he would cast, when Draco gripped his arm once again, only this time, he felt the familiar pull of apparation, his stomach twisting violently and lungs contracting. Moments later, they landed rather unsteadily in the drive of the Burrow. The towering, tilting house loomed in front of them as the setting sun beamed its last rays down across the acres of grass. Harry, however, could care less about the scenery as he whirled on Malfoy, his face distorted with rage.

"What the _hell_ did you do that for?" The dark-haired boy shoved him rather unceremoniously, his bright, vivid green eyes ablaze. "You selfish, arrogant, bastard, you—"

"Cut it out, would you, Potter?" Malfoy snarled, "I was only following the plan, seeing as you are incapable of doing so. I follow directions Potter—"

"Those were our ruddy friends, Malfoy! Do you have any idea what will happen to them? Of course, if it had been Blaise, or Pansy, or Merlin forbid, Crabbe or Goyle up there, you would have rushed to their aid, but when it's just one of my insignificant friends—"

"Of course it would have been different if it had been my friends, you idiot." Draco rolled his eyes, making his way towards the Burrow's front door. "Didn't you notice anything about that lot? Finnigan, Abbott, Boot, Alderton—the lot of them are Half-Blood, at best."

Harry's breathing had slowed significantly, but the anger had not yet completely abandoned his tone, nor his expression. "So you're saying—"

"So I'm saying,_ dear_ Potty, that that lot isn't going to be—_Merlin_—imprisoned in Azkaban or the likes. Sure, old Dumbly will give'em a bit of a warning, little lashing and all that, and then send them home to their mummies and daddies." Malfoy's face darkened, and Harry saw a flicker of what made him one of the most feared young men in the ranks. "That's the_ joy_ of being impure...they'll let you get away with murder, won't they?"

Harry's anger had completely abated now, and he put a reassuring hand on Malfoy's shoulder as the blond yanked open the door. "I don't think it's right either, Malfoy. Far from it."

As soon as the two of them stepped through the door, they were immediately assaulted with the aromatic scents of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. The pair quickly forgot about their argument, and as they sat at the table with the rest of the party, they eagerly recounted the tale of their day's adventure.


	2. Divine Right

**A/N: Hey y'all! Are you proud of me for the quick update?! This chapter is crazy short, but I'll make up for it, I promise, because the next chapter is rather long! This chapter will just be a bit of exposition, so I apologize if it seem a bit boring. Because this story is AU, I have to spend quite a bit of time on exposition. **

**Also, I forgot to mention in the first chapter, review, review, review! Even if it's just a quick little three-worder, "I love it!" "I hate it!", I'd like to hear you feedback! Y'all mean the world to me, after all ;)**

**Without further adieu, I give you, Chapter Two!**

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Chapter Two

Hermione listened as the Minister of Magic debriefed his inner circle on the attack—those who had not been in attendance were immediately informed as to what had happened. As she listened, her face stayed perfectly blank, not even a twitch to give away that she might have known more about the attack then she cared to let on.

Dirk Cresswell, Head of Goblin Liaison at the Ministry, was notably agitated. He had been knocked unconscious very early in the battle, and therefore had been unable to help. "Sir, if I may, was there a purpose to this attack, or was it merely the rebels' intention to stir up more trouble?"

Dumbledore looked contemplative for a moment, but Hermione could discern a calculative glint in his eye. Finally, he spoke. "A number of guards reported to me that two of the boys, Mr. Malfoy, and his comrade, Mr. Potter, broke into the Vault of Keys."

Hermione heard several sharp intakes of breath, and she had to exhibit no small amount of self-control to not look _too _interested. She had yet to hear the results of their hunt, other than that the majority of the rebels had fled when the quest seemed to have been completed.

All I were on Dumbledore as he circled the table slowly, his hands folded behind his back and lips curved downward in a deep frown. "Although the guards are certain that the two boys did, in fact, enter the vault, after thorough examination, it was determined that nothing was taken."

Hermione's brow furrowed. How could the two of them not succeeded? Harry and Draco were two of the most adept wizards that the rebellion had at their disposal. If they could not complete a mission successfully—

Dumbledore soon drew the meeting to a close, and Hermione watched Snape rise and quickly exit the room, his black robes billowing behind him illustriously. Without a moment's hesitation, she leapt to her feet and made to follow him.

"Ms. Granger."

She turned, attempting to hide the fact that her blood had literally just turned to ice within her veins. Most of the Ministry officials had left the room by now, leaving her standing painfully close to the open exit and Dumbledore staring down at her with the quizzical glint in his eyes.

"Please, sit."

She slowly sunk into the closest chair, perched on the edge like a bird ready to take flight at any moment. Throughout her time at Hogwarts, she had never been particularly close to the Minister. He visited the castle often; some even called him the surrogate Headmaster, but he had never treated her as any other than another student. It wasn't even until her fifth year that she had been allowed to begin attending the meetings. Dumbledore had pointed out that her intelligent mind would be an asset to the forces. Hermione, however, was more inclined to speculate that the decision had been made upon Professor Snape's insistence; whenever she wasn't in class, she could be found lurking in the dungeons, either working meticulously on a potion with Snape or badgering him incessantly about the magical properties of potions, or the proper brewing techniques, or, when she was especially curious, the effects of acclimatization on a particular brew. Eventually, he had acquiesced and simply adopted her as his apprentice, at which point Dumbledore determined that her level of trustworthiness was adequate to be a member of the inner circle.

Now, however, the man was peering at her with no small level of seriousness, and the intensity of his gaze was making her quite uncomfortable.

"Now, Ms. Granger, I believe you heard me mention that the two perpetrators accused of the breaking and entering the Vault of Keys were a Mr. Malfoy….and a Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Yes, sir….I was listening." Hermione wasn't sure where he was going with this.

He hesitated, studying her very closely. "I understand that you and Mr. Potter are…well acquainted, Ms. Granger?"

She wasn't sure whether she should lie, or tell the truth. Finally, she opted for the latter. "Er…yes, sir, we were. We've known each other all six years since attending here."

"I assumed as much, yes," Dumbledore mused, momentarily preoccupied with his own thoughts. "You understand, then, Ms. Granger, that Harry was become involved with a few new…friends?"

She spoke deliberately, choosing her words carefully. "I am aware, yes. However, sir, you must understand that while Harry's actions reflect badly upon your empire, I do not aspire—"

He lifted a hand, and she immediately silence, slumping back into her chair and biting forcefully down on her tongue. "I am not under any assumption that you would ever consider betrayal to this cause, Hermione. You must forgive an old man for his woolgathering."

He rose from his chair, wandering over towards his desk, fingering one of the many trinkets that adorned it thoughtfully. "It has come to my attention, Ms. Granger, that Mr. Potter will not be attending school for his final year here."

Hermione, too, was aware of this, though she'd never tell Dumbledore. "Why not, sir?"

"Mr. Potter has become a fully-committed member of the rebellion. While I do not resent him for this—it is no doubt due to the despicable influence of the detritus he keeps as company—I am well aware that Harry Potter is an esteemed member of the community, and to lose him to our opposition would put a tangible damper on our recruiting and campaigning process."

"I don't understand, sir." It was but a half-truth. Hermione was almost certain she knew exactly where Dumbledore was going with this, she only hoped she was wrong.

"Mr. Potter will soon be entrenched within the schemes of the rebellion, and I fear, if we do not have the….means….to extract him from such…poor influences…..he will be lost forever to us."

"Sir, you—"

"Ms. Granger, your task is simple. You will accompany Mr. Potter to the headquarters of the rebellion, convince them that you are committed to their cause, that you support them. Let there be no inkling of a doubt that Hermione Granger wants nothing more than to liberate the Pureblood society. Then, when the time is right, plant the seed within Mr. Potter's head, and bring him back to us."

Hermione blinked, several times, before gathering her thoughts into a coherent sentence. "Sir, I—I don't know if I can—I mean….what if they find me out?" It was certainly not terribly challenging, convincing Dumbledore that she was unsure of her inability to play the part of a Pureblood-loving rebel. His lined face momentarily crease into an expression of kindness, his eyes crinkling ta the corners as he smiled at her.

"Fear not, my child. I am sending Professor Snape with you. He has had regular contact with the opposition for months now—he plays something like a spy for me, as you have it—he will be able to guide you through it, for as long as you need the assistance. And, should you ever find yourself in doubt, simply remember that help will always be given at Hogwarts, to those who ask for it."

Underneath the many masks and layers of Albus Dumbledore, Hermione saw a shadow of a man, who had perhaps once cared so greatly for mankind that he was willing to fight for them, so uncorrupted and untainted by a lust for power that he resembled a different man entirely.

Just as she was about to close the door behind her, Hermione turned back, addressing the final question that had been lingering incessantly in her mind.

"Sir? Why is Harry so important?"

His piercing blue eyes once again seemed to be searing through her, rather than simply looking at her. He was silent for several moments, and when he finally did speak, they were not the words she expected to hear.

"Do you believe in Divination, Ms. Granger?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Do you mean prophecies, tea leaves, palm reading and all that rubbish? Absolutely not. An utter waste of time, in my opinion."

He smiled again, but this time it more closely resembled a smirk. "Then I'd best not waste your time. Good day, Ms. Granger."

And the door promptly snapped shut in her face.


	3. Gaze Upon Thy Enemy

**A/N: Phew! Hello, little flowers! Sorry about the wait; school just started up again for me, and, unsurprisingly, second semester of Senior year IS, if possible, more stressful than the first. I'd like to tell you that this is the longest I'll go without updating, but that would be a big, ugly lie! It's been like 4 days you brats-don't get used to it;)**

**Of course I'm kidding, I love y'all to pieces. I am very excited to debut this chapter, and I hope y'all enjoy it as well!**

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Chapter Three

"Bloody _hell!_ So the old codger just…just _gave _you permission to join the ranks?"

"In a matter of speaking," Hermione told him, letting out a little giggle at the expression on Ronald's face. "It's only for a little while though; he just wants me to convince Harry to come back to his side."

The boy in question looked rather annoyed at this. "If he thinks he can just send someone after me—no offense, 'Mione—and expect me to come crawling back, he's got another thing coming. Doesn't he have any idea—"

"Of _course _he doesn't, Harry," Hermione said practically. "He still is under the impression that you believe the story that he fed you all those years ago—that Sirius killed your parents during the Last Revolution."

"Speaking of Sirius," Harry said suddenly, spinning to face the two of them as he trudged easily backwards. "You going to be sticking around for a bit?"

"I go where you go," Hermione all but grumbled, not seeming too pleased with her predicament. Harry gave her a rather broad grin, though, and the irritation seemed to ebb away from her face.

"Would you care to participate in a jail breakout?" At this, he withdrew a tiny golden key from within his robes, and Hermione almost instantaneously flung her arms around his neck.

"You _did _get it! But I thought—Dumbledore told us that nothing had been taken!"

"It was Malfoy! I could have sworn he was channeling you for a moment, 'Mione. Just as we were going to leave, he cast a duplication spell on the key, and replaced the stolen one with a replica."

Hermione's eyes widened comically as she spluttered, "That—what—well, that's brilliant!"

"Always the tone of surprise, Granger."

The blonde was gazing across the yard at the three of them as he leaned against the doorframe of the Burrow, a light smirk playing around his lips. "Honestly, from what I hear from Potter, my marks would have been right behind yours if we went to the same school."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Forgive me if you don't strike me as the intellectual type." He grinned widely, stepping backwards just slightly so that she could slide past him into the house, before he followed after her.

The inside of the Burrow seemed to be packed to its maximum occupancy; nearly every seat was filled, and several people stood along the walls or perched upon tabletops. She recognized quite a few people in the gathering: Nymphadora Tonks, a Half-Blood witch who worked for the Ministry in the Auror department, Colin Creevey, a Muggleborn boy just a year behind Hermione, who seemed to worship the very ground that Harry walked on, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, who had been a part of all three rebellions and looked very much the part of the battered veteran, and Remus Lupin, a kind-hearted werewolf who had been very good friends with Harry's parents.

"Hermione!" A flash of vivid red hair was all that she got a glimpse of before a pair of arms were flung around her neck. As she pulled away, however, she recognized the very familiar, very pretty face of Ron's youngest and only sister, Ginny. "It's been a while!"

"It's good to see you, Ginny."

"Wotcher, Hermione."

"Hello, Tonks!"

Hermione hovered near the fireplace, exchanging small talk with the older witch, before Moody hushed everyone, his scarred face seemingly arranged into a permanent scowl. "Oi, shut up, you lot! We'll have time for catching up later." He addressed a tall, balding red haired man—Mr. Weasley—next. "Is that the last of us?"

"He said he'd be late, and to go ahead and start without him."

"Like we needed his permission," Ronald grumbled from somewhere on Hermione's left. She shot him a quizzical glance.

"Who—"

"Alright! As the lot of you know, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy were successful during their excursion to the Vault of Keys—"

A cheer broke out among several members scattered about the room. Harry bashfully flushed, but Draco had the audacity to give a mocking bow, tossing Hermione a playful wink.

"Yes, yes, wonderful job, you lot!" Moody growled, looking even more irritated than before. "Now, the purpose of this excursion, as you all know, was to retrieve the key that will permit entrance to the cell containing Mr. Sirius Black within the prison of Azkaban. This will, by no means, be the largest of obstacles we will face upon that island, but it will certainly help a great deal.

"Now," he scrutinized each of them in turn, his electric blue magical eye whirling dizzyingly in its socket. "We'll need eight of you, and not eight of the worst either. You must be able to perform a corporeal Patronus—the place'll be swarming with Dementors."

Ronald looked glum at Moody's words. "Guess I'm out. S'not even bloody fair."

"Would you prefer they perform the Dementor's Kiss on you, Ronald, all because you couldn't defend yourself?" Hermione whispered back reasonably. The redhead did not look appeased.

"Right, those who would like to come, meet me in the kitchen."

In the end, the group consisted of Harry, Hermione, Draco, Tonks, Lupin, Theodore Nott, a Pureblood boy who was good friends with Draco, Arthur Weasley, and his son and Ron's eldest brother, Bill. As the eight of them stood there, Moody peered at each of them sternly, his heavily-scarred face very serious.

"Now, listen here. Mr. Malfoy may have done a right brilliant job in making it appear that nothing was taken from the Vault of Keys, but Dumbledore's no buffoon. He _knows _that someone was in the Vault, and, as a precaution, Azkaban will undoubtedly be more heavily-guarded than usual. We must exercise constant vigilance in order to insure our mission's success."

Hermione bit her lip, raising a tentative hand to get Moody's attention. "Forgive me sir, but, how exactly are we going to get _onto _the island? According to _A History of Prominent Wizarding Establishments_, Azkaban is guarded by strong enchantments, including several Anti-Apparation wards; not to mention, the Ministry keeps a strong tab on all means of official transportation, making it impossible for us to enter by portkey. Furthermore, according to Bathilda Bagshot, the island itself is spelled to be unplottable, meaning any means of regular transportation—broomstick, boat, etc.—would be nullified."

Harry and Draco shared a knowing look, but she ignored them. "Not to worry Ms. Granger. You bring up a valid point, however, we already have –ah, speak of the devil!"

Just that moment, a young man had strode into the room. Hermione thought that the term 'angel' might have been more appropriate, given his appearance. He looked to be two or three years older than herself, his hair the same jet black shade as Harry's, but his eyes were imperceptibly dark. His skin was pale, but not unattractively so. He was very tall, even taller than Ronald.

"Forgive my tardiness," he said quietly. He spoke slowly, confidently, and each word seemed to carry a chime of purpose. Hermione could tell that he was someone that people listened to. "The wards took a little longer to shatter than I initially expected."

Moody waved off his apology. "There you have your answer, Ms. Granger. Mr. Riddle took the liberty of preceding us to break the wards down prior to arrival. This means that we must hurry, before the Ministry is notified of the intrusion."

Each of them were paired off with another wizard who knew the location of Azkaban, or who had been there before. Harry had been paired with Moody, and the two of them disappeared first. Lupin and Nott followed after them moments later. Tonks and Draco were the next to disappear, and Bill and Mr. Weasley mirrored them, until Hermione and the handsome, eerily quiet young man—Riddle, Moody had called him—were left alone.

Hermione opened to her mouth to introduce herself, out of politeness, but before she could utter a single word, he impatiently offered her his arm. "Today, please."

Her eyebrows shot upwards in irritation, grasping his arm and cringing as she felt the familiar feeling of Apparation. She let out a huff as they landed, moving immediately away from him. Wasn't he just the rudest, most pompous, _arrogant_—

She stumbled on the slippery rock, hastily catching herself and surveying her surroundings warily. The prison fortress loomed out of the darkness, impressive in both stature and girth. Its walls stood hundreds of feet high, daunting in their magnitude. She drew her wand, turning to address Riddle and ask him if they should find an entrance, only to find him a good thirty feet away from her, already having set out towards the entrance to the fortress, without so much as a glance back at her. With an outraged cry of indignation, she started hastily after him, staggering across the treacherous rock. When she finally caught up to him, he did not even bother to look at her, but clamored towards the door. As he reached for the knob, however, Hermione called, "Wait!"

To her utmost surprise, he complied, shooting her a very annoyed glance over his shoulder. Disregarding his disdain, she shoved past him, pressing her wand against the door and murmuring, "_Homenum Revelio." _ When nothing happened, she turned to him, her nose upturned rather condescendingly. "Azkaban has human guards, too. It would hardly do for the two of us to stumble into a few of them only to have them alert Dumbledore of our presence."

He eyed her contemplatively for a moment, before flicking his wand absently. The door swung open, and he strode inside. Reluctantly, she followed. Why, oh _why _couldn't she have been paired with Moody, or Mr. Weasley, or Lupin?

The interior of the fortress resembled the dungeons of Hogwarts; the air was nearly twenty degrees colder in here, and it seemed to reek of mold. The room was empty, save for several mice scrambling through a hole within the wall. Hermione started up the staircase, her wand held in front of her, expecting a guard, or worse, a _Dementor _to leap out at her any second.

They moved up two more flights of stairs, before they came to a landing. A long hall stood before them, with five doors on either side. Riddle made to move down the hall, but Hermione grasped his sleeve thoughtlessly.

"Those are the guard's quarters," she explained, letting go of his sleeve quickly when his mutinous glare landed on her face.

"How do _you _know?"

She rolled her eyes, continuing up the next flight of stairs. "I've seen a few pictures of prisoners in the _Daily Prophet_. When the pictures are taken facing the sea, it's easily discernible that the prisoners are kept exceptionally high up. The sea looks tiny in the background."

He looked irritated again, and Hermione wondered if it was because she knew something that he didn't. That seemed like the sort of thing that a person like him would get irritated about.

_Stop_, she told herself. _You hardly know him; you can't go casting aspersions on his character. _

Hermione decided that as soon as this was over, she would make a conscientious effort to befriend the boy.

As the two of them rounded a corner, she ran into something very solid and very human. Immediately she pointed her wand at the person's chest, a hex on the tip of her lips.

"'Mione, it's me!"

Harry's bright eyes bore into hers with a mixture of fright and amusement.

Hermione lowered her wand, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well…you can never be too careful." She peered around Harry's back. "Where's Moody?"

Harry grimaced, running an aggravated hand through his already-grievously untidy hair. "Top floor. We've found where they're keeping Sirius, but we've encountered a bit of a problem. There are twenty guards up there—it looks like Dumbledore knew who we were coming for. The rest of them are on the floor below, waiting for Moody to give word of a plan. He doesn't want to engage them in battle, as we're outnumbered, and he's worried that if he starts a frolic, the Dementors will come."

Hermione's mind whirred as she searched for a solution. Her eyes slid down the rows of prison cells. There were approximately four floors holding prisoners captive, two separating the one they currently were on and the floor holding Sirius Black. She frowned at Harry.

"You two stole that key so that we could make a stealthy escape with Sirius, right?" Without waiting for him to respond, she continued. "I've got something, but it's absolutely mad."

"I'm listening."

"C'mon, let's go get the others. I'll explain on the way."

The three of them made their way up the next few flights of stairs. Riddle, who had been silent the entire time, disinterestedly perused the walls and ceilings of the fortress. He seemed about as bored in this situation as Harry was in History of Magic.

"There are tons of prisoners on the floors below, correct?" she began. "What if, in order to draw the guards away from Sirius, we blast open the cells below, create a bit of a ruckus, and then the rest of us can handle whichever guards are left guarding the top floor."

Harry stared at her for a full thirty seconds, before a broad grin broke out on his lips. "Merlin, Hermione, you are _brilliant_. Absolutely brilliant!"

They reached the next floor, and Hermione hastily recounted her plan to the others.

"Right," Moody began issuing orders. "Tonks, Arthur, Bill, Lupin, and I will head down to begin blasting open the cells." He eyed Harry very seriously. "Potter, you, Miss Granger, Mr. Riddle, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Nott will head upstairs as soon as it looks like the majority of the guards have taken the bait. You are, under no circumstances, to come and assist us once you have retrieved Black. I take it you know how to Apparate, Miss Granger?" She nodded hastily. "As soon as you have retrieved Mr. Black, you and Mr. Riddle are to Apparate everyone safely back to the Burrow and wait for our return."

Without another word, Moody whisked his lot off to the lower levels, and not two minutes later, they heard a huge explosion: the first cell had been broken open. It did not take long for the guards to react. Hermione realized, as she heard their pounding footsteps above, that they would see them as they passed down to the next floor. Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt the sensation of a raw egg being cracked upon her head. She looked to her left and saw that Riddle had disillusioned the both of them. He briskly gestured for the other three to follow in suit, and not a second too soon, for a moment later a stream of guards came storming past them, charging down the staircase towards the lower floors.

_One…two…three….four….five….six….seven….eight….nine….ten….eleven….twelve…..thirteen….fourteen…_fourteen guards Hermione counted, and she stared after them in a moment of befuddlement.

"They only left _six _guards up there?" she mused incredulously.

"Idiots," Draco quipped, slipping away from the wall that that five of them were pressed against and making his way up the final flight of stairs. He paused in front of the door, then, after a moment's hesitation, blasted it off its hinges, firing rapidly at the first guard he set eyes on. The man was caught off-guard, and he was blasted backwards, colliding sickeningly with the wall. The remaining five guards charged at them. Hermione fired spell after spell at the man she was dueling—a tall, thin, blonde man with strange yellow eyes. Glancing around, she saw that Draco and Theodore were each engaged in their own duels, and that Tom, impressively enough, was dueling two guards at once. A frown furrowed her brow as she looked around for Harry, and promptly spotted him, hurriedly making his way down the long row of cells, golden key in hand.

"_Ah!_" In her moment of distraction, the blonde man had sent a nastily slicing hex spiraling towards her. It had caught her in the side, and blood seemed to be flowing freely from the wound. She gritted her teeth, casting a series of spells, rapidly, one after the other. The man dodged the first three, but for the fourth he was not so lucky. It slammed into his shoulder, sending him flying backwards. Hermione sent a quick stunner towards him, knocking the man unconscious, and sprinted after Harry. The bespectacled boy seemed to have located Sirius Black's cell, and indeed, as she approached, Hermione recognized the man from the pictures in the _Daily Prophet. _

His stringy black hair was matted with sweat and grime, and his face looked gaunt, sunken and waxy. His eyes looked haunted as he looked upon the two of them, but when the rested on Harry, they seemed to brighten marginally.

"Harry Potter," he whispered. Harry hastily shoved the key into the keyhole, and the cell creaked open. The sound must have alerted the other guards, because they immediately turned toward the three of them. The three remaining guards started after them. Tom hastily shot an _Incarcerous _at one of the wizards, and he tumbled to the ground, but the other two began rapidly shooting spells towards the trio. Hermione hastily conjured a shield, but it trembled violently under the onslaught of their attack.

"Grab onto me," Harry told Sirius. "We're going to Apparate out of here." He conjured a shield of his own. "C'mon!" He bellowed across the hall. The three of them wasted no time. Harry clutched Hermione's arm in his own, and she turned on the spot, disappearing with a loud _pop. _

The remaining guards, infuriated, spun to face the three boys. Draco and Theodore dove towards Tom, their arms outstretched, but as he spun on the spot, one of the guards shot a curse in their direction. It slammed into Draco, just as the three of them vanished.


	4. Two-Sided Coin

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, I meant to update last night, but I was having serious writer's block-still kind of am, to be honest. But I promise I will continue to attempt to keep pushing through!**

**I'm not sure what to think of this chapter, or how y'all will receive it. We're kind of getting away from the exposition now and into the actual content, so I really hope y'all enjoy!:)**

* * *

Chapter Four  
Hermione had only just sent Sirius inside to Mrs. Weasley when Draco, Riddle, and Nott appeared. The blonde boy let out a low, guttural moan, and dropped to the ground, holding his shoulder. She felt her stomach pinch in fear as she bent over him, searching for the site of the wound. When she found it, her hands clapped over her mouth.

The spell, which had collided with his shoulder, seemed to be eating away at his flesh. The layers of skin peeled back as it spread further and further down his arm, and up to the junction of his neck. "Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione choked out, her hands trembling as she waved her wand over him, attempting a few basic healing spells which seemed to do next to nothing.

Someone dropped down beside her, and she recognized Riddle's form as he, too, bent over Malfoy. "It's the Flagrante curse."

Her eyes widened in horror. "But—but that isn't meant to be used on—on people." Her gaze flitted back to Draco's face as Mrs. Weasley came rushing out of the house, followed by Professor Snape. The latter, with Riddle's help, carefully lifted Draco and carried him into the house, lying him down on one of the tables. Mrs. Weasley hastily pulled out a burn salve from one of the cabinets, and Snape hurriedly went to retrieve a potion from his bag.

"Best if you lot clear out of here and wait for the others," Mrs. Weasley suggested, not unkindly. Hermione reluctantly followed Riddle and Theodore out to the front yard, her fingers trembling as she glanced over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Draco's deathly pale face, before the door was snapped shut.

"You alright?" Theodore asked softly, his gaze shifting over her trembling form. She nodded numbly, attempting to give him a reassuring smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. She had never spoken to the boy, though she had seen him several times around the Burrow. He was frightfully handsome, with dark eyes, untidy dark brown hair, and a heavy-set brow. He moved closer to her, his hands folded pensively behind his back, as the two of them stared out over the silent yard. "He'll be fine, you know. Draco's always getting into nasty little ruts, but he pulls through."

A sharp scream sounded from the house, and Hermione shut her eyes, the fear clenching at her chest bordering on agonizing. "That spell isn't meant to be used on humans; there's no telling on whether or not Professor Snape and Mrs. Weasley will be able to heal him. Even if they can, he's bound to be terribly disfigured."

His lip quirked upwards and a small amount of amusement glittered in his eyes as he glanced at her. "That's the real tragedy here, isn't it? We're going to have to listen to poor Draco gripe about the loss of his good looks for the rest of our existence." Despite herself, Hermione let out a light laugh.

Several pops signaled the return of the rest of the party. But as Hermione looked around the yard, she realized that there were only four figures, not five. She, Theodore, and Riddle followed them inside, waiting for an explanation. The inside of the burrow was deathly quiet, and Mrs. Weasley and Professor Snape were working with meticulous precision. Draco was now unconscious, and Harry lingered at his side, the muscles in his face tight with agitation.

Arthur approached his wife and put a hand on her shoulder, before turning to address the rest of the room. "Moody's dead."

Hermione's eyes shot to Mr. Weasley's face, looking for any indication that his words had been said in jest. The lines of his face were deep, making him appear years older. Tears were rolling, unbridled, down Tonks's face. She had been his apprentice, in her earlier years of working at the Ministry, and he had been something of a surrogate father to her. Lupin said, "Once the guards got word that we had escaped with one of their high security prisoners, they aimed to kill. And succeeded."

Silence followed his words. Nobody seemed to know what to do, or say. Finally, Hermione could take it no longer, and she quietly got up and slipped out of the door, breathing in the fresh night air. She had not been prepared for this. Of course, she had expected danger, upon joining the rebel forces, but to loose Mad-Eye, and have Draco close to following in suit, in one night?

The door swung out, sending a strip of light flooding across the lawn. Hermione didn't bother to turn, but watched as the person's shadow approached her own, their figure much taller than hers. A boy then, judging by their build.

"Mrs. Weasley wished for me to tell you that the Malfoy boy will survive. He's in rough condition, but it's no longer fatal."

Hermione felt a swell of pressure lift from her chest. As he turned to go, she spoke without really thinking, "Did you know Moody well?"

He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Yes. He has been in charge of the rebel forces for as long as I can remember."

Hermione was suddenly curious; she wanted to know more about this strange, surly, brooding creature, so alike Professor Snape in his temperament, that she accidentally blurted, "Are you a Pureblood?"

Riddle arched a dark brow at her, looking unimpressed by her outburst. Her face flushed, but she refused to avert her gaze. "Forgive me, I was just….curious. It's interesting to meet Half-Bloods or Muggleborns who support the cause—they each seem to have an impassioned reason for doing so."

He turned to face her fully, his expression unfathomable. "And Purebloods don't have an impassioned reason?"

She shifted uncomfortably. Was he making fun of her? "Well—well of course they do, but it's different. When you're fighting for your own liberation, you don't really need to have some noble rationale—it's simply in the human nature to want to be free. But the Muggleborns and Half-Bloods aren't being oppressed; each one that I've met that supports the cause has been propelled into action due to some life-altering experience."

He smirked down at her, and now Hermione was sure that he was making fun of her. He squared his shoulders away from her again, facing the empty yard, "I'm not a Mudblood, if that's what you're asking."

She attempted not to flinch, but failed.

"I'm a Half-Blood. And I support the cause because I want Albus Dumbledore dead, and I want to be the one to do it."

Hermione's lips parted in surprise. He didn't give her a chance to reply as he disappeared back into the house, throwing her a caustic grin over his shoulder. It wasn't what he had said that had her so surprised; plenty of people want Dumbledore dead. No, it was the burning hatred with which he had uttered the words, his voice so infused with anger and loathing that she was nearly certain that if she had dared to disagree with him, she would have promptly burst into flame.

* * *

The next evening, the members of the rebellion sat around the table, the fireplace casting a warm glow on the room. Sirius sat at the head, looking drastically healthier than the man they had retrieved the prior evening. Mrs. Weasley, upon his arrival, had stuffed him with more food that Hermione thought possible for a human to consume, and his skin, though still ghastly pale, had lost some of its waxiness, and his hair, which had been cut to his shoulders, looked well-groomed and remarkably cleaner.

Draco, on the other hand, looked a little worse for wear. He was still smiling and laughing just as much as ever, but his handsome face had been marred by deep burns. The right side of his face was a deep pink color, the skin flaky and peeling, and the marks ran from his forehead down to his hand. The hair at the front of his head looked brittle, as though it had been singed.

Hermione's eyes danced over the members of the party, and realized that Riddle and Nott were missing. Before she could mention this to either of her companions, Sirius spoke: "Alright, quiet down, you lot. While I really, really appreciated your jail-break escapade last night, there are a few unexpected downsides due to our success."

"The old codger is furious; this is now two things that we've stolen from him in the past two days, and he's taken liberties to increase security on every possible landmark that contains something which we might like to have—the Ministry, Azkaban, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, St. Mungo's, the Underground, et cetera. This means that the next few portions of our plans may be a little difficult to fulfill."

"But not impossible," Tonks pointed out cheerfully. Hermione noticed a thin cut running along the side of her face.

"But not impossible," Sirius acquiesced. "The most helpful component would be to have some reliable eyes and ears in Hogwarts itself." At this, he shot Harry a very pointed glance. The bespectacled boy, whose figure had been slouched in his chair, seemingly disinterested, shot up, his eyes narrowed in a defiant glare.

"Don't start that again, Sirius," he snapped. "You know perfectly well why I couldn't spend another instant locked up in that sad excuse for a school. Do you have any idea what it's like, having Dumbledore, and the rest of those ruddy professors shoving ideas in my head about Purebloods? Besides, you'll still have Creevey, and Corner. And Snape, of course."

At the mention of his name, the sallow-faced man arched a single dark eyebrow, the disdain that was discernible in Harry's voice clearly mutual.

"Oh, boys, boys, don't," Tonks jumped in quickly, in something of a mother-hen sort of way. "It's Harry's decision. If he feels that he will be more useful on the front, than we must trust him. Besides, we have plenty of eyes and ears within Hogwarts, and that's hardly our prevalent focus at the moment."

Hermione's ears perked at this. "What do you mean?"

Sirius grimly rubbed a thin hand over his face. "Our primary focus at the moment, Hermione, is the liberation of the Purebloods residing at both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."

Her eyes widened. "But—but…there are hundreds of students within those schools. Even assuming that we were able to get them all out, where would we put them?"

"That's not even our largest issue at the moment," Draco supplied, his normally jovial face lined with aggravation. He paused, seeming to mull over his words, before he spoke, "….Some of the Purebloods aren't exactly….keen on our cause."

Murmurs broke out around the table, the loudest of which emitting from Ronald and Harry.

"Aren't keen on it? Bloody hell, would they rather be abused and persecuted for the rest of their lives?"

"How do they expect us to help them if they don't even trust us?"

Draco raised his voice over all of the hubbub. "There are a few Pureblood's who completely support the ideals of Grindelwald; that is, they would rather be stuffed into two schools with their own kind than associate with Mudbl—Muggleborns and Half-Bloods."

The rooms seem to come to halting silence. Draco's eyebrows were furrowed as he surveyed them all, "Surely…I mean…surely this isn't news to you all?"

"So—so everything that Dumbledore spouts is true, then?" Tonks asked indignantly.

Draco's pale face—the side that had not been disfigured—turned a rather bright shade of pink. "No, of course not, we're not all like that, there's just a few left that—"

His words were washed out as chaos ensued again, several members of the ensemble, on the Muggleborn side, drew their wands in fury at Draco's words. Hermione massaged her temples, exchanging a glance of exasperation with Lupin across the throng.

"Silence." The voice cut through the pandemonium like a sharp knife, and two men who looked as though they had been about to duel hastily stuffed their wands back into their robes. Riddle strode into the room, looking rather miffed at having arrived to the site of a near-brawl.

From behind him several people emerged through the doorway: a very pretty witch with white-blonde hair and kind blue eyes—Draco's mother—and a tall man with nearly identical features—save for his eyes, which were the same shade of grey as Draco's—his father. After the two of them stood three more people that Hermione did not recognize.

"Riddle. So glad you could make it." Was Hermione the only one that heard the sarcasm laced in Sirius' tone? "I see you've brought your entourage."

He gracefully slipped into the seat exactly opposite Sirius, and waved a lazy hand in the newcomers' directions. "Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, you know. I think you'll recognize Bartemius Crouch Jr. as well, and Antonin Dolohov, and of course, Rabastan Lestrange."

The first man was easily the youngest, looking not much more than two years Hermione's senior. He had straw-coloured hair and freckles, and his jaw was set and taut, as though he were clenching his teeth very hard. The next man, Antonin Dolohov, looked to be the oldest. He was a burly, thickset man, with a heavy brow and a wandering gaze. Hermione looked away quickly when his eyes met hers.

Rabastan Lestrange had black hair, indiscernibly dark eyes, and a seemingly ever-present frown upon his lips. He had a quiet sort of intelligence about him, but his handsome face looked to be marred with years of agitation and suffering; the lines around his mouth made him appear years older than he was.

"What did you bring them here for?" Ronald, with his remarkable tendency for indelicacy, voiced in a loud, intrusive voice. His mother immediately thumped him on the back of the head, hurriedly conjuring seats for the five of them, her face alit with warmth. Hermione had always admired Mrs. Weasley's ability to open her heart to anyone in need, despite their questionable backgrounds.

"Don't be silly, Ronald. They are, of course, welcome. We have some roast pork left over, if any of you are hungry-"

"We ate before our arrival, Molly, but thank you very much." It was Narcissa who spoke, her soft voice kind and gentle as she smiled at the harried witch. "Tom merely informed us that the matters being discussed at tonight's meeting were of great importance."

"And indeed they are, Narcissa." Arthur said quietly, his face very serious. "It has come to our attention that Dumbledore intends to increase the measures under which the Purebloods are persecuted."

"Increase it? How?" Harry had leaned forward in his seat, his palms flat against the surface of the table.

Arthur paused, seemingly hesitant, before glancing at Lupin.

The werewolf sighed, leaning forward as well and looking directly at Harry. "Dumbledore's commission is considering segregating certain areas from Purebloods-Diagon Alley, the Quidditch stadiums, maybe even the Ministry, and, they are even talking about servitude policies-"

If it had been disorderly before, the room seemed to erupt like some long-forgotten dormant volcano, swelling and building for centuries and centuries, unbeknownst to anyone, before it burst in an explosion of outrage and malice. Ron had flown at of his chair, his face so red that it clashed with his vibrant hair; Draco and Theodore both roared in indignation, cheeks flushed and breathing ragged. Lucius and Rabastan wore expression of rage, but their quiet fury was almost more intimidating than the three Pureblood boys' flagrant wrath.

"How dare they!" Draco bellowed over the commotion. "As if branding us wasn't enough for those bastards-"

"Draco," the disapproval was tangible in Lucius's voice as he glared at his son. "Sit down. Your petty displays aren't going to solve anything."

To Hermione's surprise, Draco glumly sunk back into his seat, seething silently as he glowered at the wall opposite him. She cleared her throat and asked timidly, "Draco, what do you mean, branding you wasn't enough?"

He looked sharply at her, his eyes seeming to search hers for something. "You-you mean you really don't know?" She shook her head, and he let out a disbelieving breath. He rose from his seat slowly, glancing warily at his father before looking back at her. "Dumbledore needed a way to keep track of us-just in case someone tried to claim that they weren't a Pureblood. He wanted to make sure that none of us could get around the system." He turned his back on her, and for a moment, Hermione wanted to ask him what he was doing, but then he pulled up the back of his shirt, and she gasped.

The taut muscles on his back were marred by a strange design. The flesh was pink and puckered, as though something very hot had been pressed to his skin. The design was huge, covering most of his back. A huge triangle made up the outside of it; on the inside was a single circle with a long, straight light running straight through the middle. Hermione recognized it immediately.

"That's Dumbledore's mark. He-he branded that into your skin."

Draco dropped his shirt, his face fighting to remain nonchalant, but his lip twitched as his eyes roved over her horrified face. "He does it to all of us. Every single one. As soon as we're born."

Hermione felt horror crawling across her skin as she blankly stared at her hands in her lap. She knew that Dumbledore treated the Purebloods badly, but she had no idea-

"The point is, it's time to take matters into our own hands." It was Riddle who spoke, and though his voice sounded unaffected, there was an anger burning in his eyes greater than Draco's, or Harry's, or even Lucius or Rabastan's. "Dumbledore cannot be trusted; for all we know, his next decree could be to kill off every Pureblood in our society."

"But there's a problem with that," Harry interrupted. Riddle's face turned stony, but Harry ignored him. "If the Purebloods have their own prejudices against Muggleborns and Half-Bloods, how are we going to get them to join our side?"

Riddle rolled his eyes. "Well, they're simply going to have to listen to us, won't they? All it takes is a little convincing, and you'll find I can be very...persuasive." Antonin and Rabastan shared a smirk that made Hermione's skin crawl. "We are going to rally the students at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, break out our remaining comrades in Azkaban, and start a war."


End file.
